


Demonophobia

by EliseHart



Category: Demonophobia, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Demon Sherlock, Demons, Gen, Hell, Possession, Satan - Freeform, Sherlock AU: Demon, curse, satanic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-05 00:42:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EliseHart/pseuds/EliseHart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John, scarred from a horrible encounter with a demon, returns to the scene of the crime in order to face his fear.  Will he conquer his demon or be consumed?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Demonophobia

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of a project I had to do for my Creative Writing class. Without realizing, I named all the characters from Sherlock and described the demon to be similar to Sherlock. I blame all the fanfiction writing I've been doing recently...  
> Anyway, I edited it to make it more like the real characters and posted!

A chill wind blew across John Watson’s face as he stood before the old, tattered house.  The front door hung on desperately to the frame by one hinge, jagged holes littered every window, the chipping paint looked more grey than white in the cloud-covered lighting, and the front lawn had grass so over grown and brown that it was nearly impossible to see the sidewalk leading up to the front porch steps.  Taking a deep breath, John shivered and closed his eyes, remembering the most frightening day of his life twenty-three years prior.

He and his friends all stood facing the abandoned house.  The last family to own the house was killed by George Hardy, who claimed to have been possessed by a demon before being sent off to prison for life.  It was said that whoever entered the house would get possessed by the same demon and murder anyone in sight.

Wanting to prove their bravery, or stupidity—which is essentially the same trait—John, Molly, and Greg headed inside the cursed house.  Sunlight shown through the broken windows and shards of glass crunched under their shoes.  “The sitting room,” John whispered.  “The place where George Hardy killed the father.”

Molly looked at him nervously, “Maybe we shouldn’t be here.”

“Oh, come on, Molly!  We haven’t even been in the house for five minutes,” Greg teased.

“I know,” she replied, “But I have a bad feeling.  And it’s going to be dark soon.”

John smiled, “Exactly, nighttime’s when it all happens.”

Greg nodded as he headed upstairs, “I’m gonna stay in the kid’s room.  You guys pick a spot before nightfall.”

Molly shot a look at him and then turned to John.  “He’s so full of it.  He only picked the kid’s room because it’s the safest room in the house.”  She paused, the uneasy feeling in her gut growing with each passing moment.

“Do you think anything is going to happen?” he asked her.

“I honestly don’t know.  I hope not.”

Giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, John motioned towards the upstairs, “You should head up to the master bedroom.  I’m sure it’s more comfortable than this sofa.”

She replied with a nervous smile and headed up the stairs.

Once he heard the bedroom door close, John smiled to himself and brushed dust away from the cushions before laying down to sleep.  Worry overwhelmed him as he remembered that it was thought that most of the activity would happen in that room because of the father dying there.  He silently prayed that all the stories were just rumors and that he and his friends would wake up in the morning safe and sound.

What felt like moments later, a scream pierced through John’s sleep and woke him up.  The world was dark and he scrambled to dig his torch out of his rucksack.  The screams, never ceasing, began to grow quieter.  Breathing heavily, the boy ran upstairs to the kid’s room to find out what was happening.

John shined the light towards the bed, only to see Greg’s lifeless eyes staring at him while Molly stood over his bloody, mutilated body holding a knife in her hand.  ‘This can’t be real,’ he thought, closing his eyes.  ‘Wake up!’  He opened them but the scene hadn’t changed.  His stomach churned tightly and he fell to the floor in shock.

A low growl sounded from Molly as she walked closer.  “Pitiful human.  You will meet death tonight and you don’t even have the strength to stand and face it?  Weak!  Coward!”  The voice was not her own as she spoke, but rather a husky, deep voice that stayed ringing in John’s ears.

John looked up, violently shaking as the demon possessing Molly’s body lunged at him with the blade.  In a moment without thought, the boy dodged, twisted the knife in her hand, and stabbed it through Molly’s heart.

The monster inside her screamed in anger, “Worthless shit of the earth!  You will pay for what you have done!  Dying a thousand deaths instead of one!  Given, you have, your soul to sell; tortured for all of eternity in the pits of Hell!”

As the demon finished his promise, he faded out of Molly’s eyes and the girl’s lifeless body fell to the floor.  THUMP.

Gasping, John is brought back to present day.  The sun was setting behind him as he regained composure of himself.  That day had left a permanent mark in his mind, leaving him terrified of anything demonic or satanic.  The man surrounded himself in holy objects of protection and prepared for tonight, the night he faced his demon.  His sack was loaded with small vials of holy water and bags of salt.  A crucifix hung loosely around his neck.  Hoping that would be enough to stop the nightmare that had haunted him for so long, he finally approached the house.

Inside, the furniture was coated with a new, thick layer of dust.  Left over crime-scene tape streaked the floor, surrounded by dozens of footprints from past investigators and ghost/demon hunters looking for a good story.

Taking a long breath of the musty, stale air, John looked towards the staircase.  In the fading light, it almost seemed more ominous than it did in pure darkness.  He felt his heart beat frantically in his throat as he tiptoed closer to them.  He stopped.  ‘Maybe I’m not ready yet,’ he thought.  ‘Now isn’t the time.  I should turn back.’

John pondered his options for a little while but then reluctantly decided to proceed.  ‘I’ve gotten this far.  I can finish this,’ he convinced himself.  As he continued, he pulled a torch out of his sack and gripped it with hands slick with sweat.  His breathing grew heavier with each step he took until he held his mouth with his hand to quiet the sound.

Icy air blew in his face as he reached the top of the stairs.  A putrid smell rolled from the master bedroom, forcing John to lower his hand so he could breathe through his mouth.  John froze as a familiar growl sounded from the open door, “Ah!  The human has returned.”

“Yes,” he choked out, trying to sound braver than he was feeling.

A dark laugh filled the hallway.  “Don’t try to mask your fear, you’re not fooling anyone; especially someone so incredibly superior to you.  I would be insulted if you were worth the trouble.”

In response, John pulled out a vial of holy water and held it up, “I’ve come prepared!  Don’t make me use this!  I will defeat you!”

Suddenly, the figure of a tall man formed from the blackness.  His pale skin cracked as he moved and nearly white and searing eyes burned with all the fires of Hell.  His hands stretched out with talons protruding from elongated fingers.  Within moments, John found himself lying on the floor, pinned by the horrifying creature, whose slender body provided such flexible strength that the man had little chance of escaping.  Through two large nose cavities, the demon breathed deeply, “You cheated me once, and I do _hate_ to lose.  You will not escape this time.”

John tried to reach for his sack of vials and salt, but it was too far from his hand.  He resolved to shatter the vial of water he was already holding, splattering the liquid over the demon’s skin.

Singed and screaming, the demon refused to loosen his grip and instead dug his sharp claws deep into John’s arms, causing him to cry out in pain.  “I’ve waited twenty years for you, John Watson.  A little pain will not stop me now.”

Then the creature began to chant in Latin: “Dolor tuus est ardens et mortem tuam tardus iam sentiunt corpus tuum exardescet sicut eius in inferno causa ut 'ubi youll' exsisto nunc videre, et sentiunt dolorem u cassus”.  John could feel the world around him become unbearably hot.  He groaned in pain as he could only see the glow of Hell’s fires.  The longer the chant continued, the more the demon transformed.  John watched helplessly as the creature’s skin turned black as coal; its lips disintegrated, only showing the sharpest fangs one could imagine; its face grew longer; and its bones impossibly more pronounced than they had been before.  As the chant completed, the demon dug its claws even further into its victim’s arms and howled a scream that nearly deafened the poor man.

In terror, John watched as hundreds of demons crawled out of raging fires.  Using a voice similar to that of a thousand men speaking at once, his captor repeated, “You will pay for what you have done.  Dying a thousand deaths instead of one.  Given, you have, your soul to sell; tortured for all of eternity in the pits of Hell.”

For the rest of time, screams sounded through the earth’s core.  Voices of the millions of lost souls for their eternal punishment pierced the air in a constant chorus of anguish.  But none was louder or more despairing that that of John Watson.

**Author's Note:**

> I HIGHLY suggest not trying the curse. It's a damning curse that you can basically do on anyone. I'll tell how it works for the sake of the story, but please don't attempt it. You think about everything a certain person has done to you--whether it actually hurt you or just pissed you off--and then light red and black candles. Then you cut your hand say the chant in English (I typed it up in Latin to make it more fun). But, if your blood stops flowing before the chant is complete, then your blood and your whole body will burn as if on fire. This condemns your enemy to burn in Hell.
> 
> I'm not a Satanist, but I did research. I don't believe that this stuff will work, but just in case, please don't try it.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please feel free to leave comments or questions. Any form of criticism is appreciated.


End file.
